


Deep Waters

by girlintheglen



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 14:53:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21255155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlintheglen/pseuds/girlintheglen
Summary: A gift for mrua7 - Halloween Challenge on mfu_scrapbook





	Deep Waters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mrua7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrua7/gifts).

It was a dismal scene.

The ravaged landscape was testimony to the fierceness of the storm that had recently passed through the region south of Arthurville, Kentucky.

As Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin made their way along the overflowed river in a small motorboat, their eyes scanned the landscape (or more appropriately _riverscape),_ for any sign of life. They were here, not as representatives of the government relief agencies, but for the purpose of finding one of their own. The storm had overtaken an agent, a friend; Mark Slate was missing, and his last communication had been to exclaim that he was going under.

A familiar warble was responded to as Napoleon answered the call on his communicator.

“Mister Solo, any sign as of yet?” The Old Man’s tone was solemn, his question one begging for hope against hope that his agent, the congenial British agent, was going to be found alive.

“Sorry sir, we don’t see anything here. I will report in as soon as…’’ Illya saw something and held up his hand to signal Napoleon to stop talking.

“Look, over there! It’s the bottom of a boat.”

“Sir, we’ve located… something. Signing off.” Napoleon capped his communicator and let his eyes search the area surrounding the overturned vessel. It was a motorboat, similar to the one he and Illya were in. 

As they pulled up alongside the craft, something began to move the water on the far side of it. The boat was caught between the branches of a fallen tree, so that it could not move. But the waters were churning, causing both agents to pull out their Specials to take aim. For what, they had no clue.

As the waters churned in a circular pattern, it soon spawned a water spout that began coughing up fish and debris. In one last great heave, a large figure was spewed up out of its center, landing atop the overturned boat with a thud that nearly broke what was left of the hull.

“Mark?” Illya and Napoleon said his name in unison, urging their boat to get close enough to the wreck so that they could pull their friend aboard.

“What the devil? Mark, Mark! C’mon man, get up!” Napoleon was urging the man to move, but he seemed to be out cold. Neither Solo nor Kuryakin let their minds accept that he might be dead.

Illya pulled up as close as he was able, the branches that held the other boat in place were blocking the way. Napoleon decided to use them to gain his footing, climbing over them and onto the hull where Mark lay unconscious. Feeling for a pulse, Solo heaved a sigh of relief and signaled to his partner that the Brit was alive, although he hadn’t a clue how. It had been two days since he was heard from, the devastation of the storm delaying the efforts to recover the dead, or, hopefully, rescue anyone still alive.

“Do you notice anything odd about him?” Illya asked the question as he was looking more closely, now that the initial shock _and relief_ was wearing down. Napoleon had managed to drag Mark close enough for Illya to help get him aboard their motorboat, easing him down as gently as was possible considering the situation.

“What do you mean? I don’t…’ Napoleon’s eyes widened slightly, the barest indication of surprise.

“He isn’t wet, his clothes are … dry… What do you make of it Illya?” The blond didn’t have an answer, he was as stumped as Napoleon.

“I honestly don’t have a clue. It makes no sense, unless there’s some sort of air pocket, but…”

“But he was tossed up out of the water by a _waterspout_… This river, even with all of the debris and recent storm, is placid. How did it create a waterspout?” Illya had the boat on full speed as he headed back to where this search had begun, the little town of Arthurville.

There were multiple units of rescue personnel at the townsite, and several additional UNCLE agents waited there as well, having been alerted that Mark Slate was alive. April Dancer, Slate’s partner, had stayed behind, albeit reluctantly. It was thought better for her to be ready to help in whatever way necessary when Mark was brought back. Now she waited expectantly, relieved at the outcome.

When Illya was able to wend his way to the dock, dodging debris and other small craft, he found a spot near the ramp and very nearly grounded their boat. He didn’t care at this point, his only concern was getting Mark to the Medical tent where a doctor could check him out. He was still unconscious, but all of his vitals were good, according to Napoleon.

April saw them and ran to the boat, urging two Section III agents to move faster. They arrived breathless.

“Mark! Isn’t he awake? What’s wrong with him?” April’s questioning came out all at once, like the storm that had preceded them here.

“April, he hasn’t come around yet. Let’s just get him to a doctor and… sshhh… “ Napoleon wrapped his arms around April, her fears and relief all muddled up into one big emotional reaction. As an agent she could endure quite a lot, but seeing Mark like this…

“Thank you Napoleon, really, I’m alright… really.” She pushed away from her boss, embarrassed and grateful. She would be so glad to have this day behind her.

Illya was talking to the doctor, questioning why Mark hadn’t gained consciousness, when suddenly the patient sat up and looked around the scene that surrounded them.

“Ble ydw i?” 

“Oh my, gibberish. He may have a concussion…” Illya shook his head.

“No, that is Welsh. He’s asking where he is.” Both men looked at Mark more closely.

“Mark, can you understand me?” Illya was hoping so, otherwise they were in trouble. He had only a passing knowledge of Welsh, and frankly was very confused as to why Mark would be speaking it.

The British agent looked around, then directly at Illya.

“Illya? Where am I?” Relieved at hearing English, Illya recounted how he and Napoleon had found Mark.

“Yeah, right… I remember some of it.’ Mark’s eyes narrowed as he tried to recall the circumstances leading up to where he now was.

“It’s like a dream, but everything is…” He stopped, the images were not possible, they were too fantastic.

“I met King Arthur. He’s not what I expected.”

>>>>>>>>>

Napoleon, Illya and April were all huddled together, trying to make sense of what Mark had told them in recounting what all had transpired while he was missing. The story was bizarre, certainly the result of some head injury, although none could be found.

“King Arthur? Illya, is there any kind of historical evidence for what Mark is saying? I mean, Kentucky? How did he get here?”

“My poor Mark. My darling Mark…” April was near tears, fearing the worst; Mark might be held back from duty because of these delusions.

Illya was still thinking. He’d heard things, read a few papers that supported the idea that Arthur had sailed to the New World and encountered the natives. Of course the reigning authorities rejected all of it, and the entirety of the Arthurian Legend was just that: legend. There was scant proof of the Camelot that reigned as the signature of Arthur’s realm.

“What if it’s true, and what if Mark has indeed had an encounter of some sort. The legend of Arthur includes entities that are, umm… well, ethereal. And then there’s the Lady of the Lake, the sword Excalibur, thrown into the lake…” It was all just conjecture, and Mark didn’t have anything concrete to help in making sense of it.

That was the mood as Mark approached his friends. He felt fine, and the doctor was astonished to pronounce the patient as not in need of any kind of care.

“Look, I know this all sounds like a fairy tale of some sort, but I am telling you the truth. I was in this … this place that was full of creatures who tended to me. I should have drowned, the boat capsized and I went down into the depths of that river and ended up… ‘ Mark shoved his hands into his pockets, remembering the place where he had been.

“I ended up in the presence of a fairy court of some sort, and they all knew my name. They also told me stories, about King Arthur, of his love of Wales and, most especially, Guinevere. She had red hair, by the way.” He winked at April, bringing back the smile she’d been hiding behind her concern.

"But Mark, you're saying you met Arthur? Under the river?" Napoleon was a romantic, but he wasn't easily convinced of things he couldn't prove. In many ways, he was more of a skeptic than his Russian partner.

“It was more of a, well kind of like a movie. I can't explain it, only relate it to you. It happened, it was real. Arthur was here, he died here and his legacy is held by the river faeries who guard his legacy here. In Kentucky, in America. Look at this place, it is as close to the countryside of England and Wales as you’ll find. Arthur would have felt at home here, and if what I’m telling you is true, there will be evidence of it, both here and back home.”

They all looked around them as Mark spoke. It was lush and green, and even after the devastation of the storm the truth of what Mark said was easy to see.

Illya wanted to believe this fantastic story, he’d always fought the urge to indulge in the unknown, yielding to his training in science and logic. But something about this was even more romantic than the standard legends of Arthur. He had traveled, had seen more of the world than his own small corner of it.

_If this was true._

Napoleon shook his head, no matter what Mark thought had happened to him, they needed to get him back to New York and under the care of one of their own doctors. He didn’t want to lose Mark as an active agent, but a story like this… geez, and it wasn’t even THRUSH.

“Okay everyone, we have a helicopter arriving soon to take us to Louisville so we can catch our flight back to New York. Mark, you feel up to traveling?” The nodding head was all he needed.

Alexander Waverly was a man always i_n the know_ of whatever was happening in the world. He also knew a thing or two about theories that weren’t known by the general population. It would have surprised some people to learn that UNCLE not only kept the world a little safer from run of the mill villains, the THRUSH types who threatened continually to ruin everything in its wake, Waverly also kept safe the most unusual accounts of history, the sometimes mystical or metaphysical elements of history that weren’t easily conveyed to a modern population.

The story being related by his agent Mark Slate, a most reliable young man and not given to extraordinary accounts of faeries and dead kings, had some truth to it. Of course, it would be impossible to prove Slate’s experience beneath the waters of that river; it was the most unlikely place for an encounter such as he described.

But the notion of Arthur in America, in Kentucky… it was not without basis. The question he wanted an answer to was less likely to be had.

_Why Slate? _What connection to Arthur did he have that would endear the mystical creatures to him? Why had they saved him, and not others who were known to have perished in the storm?

As for Mark, his dreams for many nights to come would be filled with the images of magical creatures, full of light and kindness for a stranger whose misfortune had turned into a fantastic adventure. He would never forget the stories they told him, of a king from a faraway place who had visited them and sought their help and wisdom. 

And of course there was the sword, the gleaming sword, embedded into a deposit of …_ slate._

_>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>_

++_Metamorphic rocks are sedimentary or igneous rocks whose physical and mineralogical characteristics have been profoundly altered by the action of heat or pressure, or both. The principal metamorphic rocks are schist, phyllite, gneiss, marble, quartzite, and slate. Some metamorphic rocks can also be found in glacial deposits in northern Kentucky._

_+++_ [Arthur in America](http://welshculturenepa.org/uncategorized/dr-lee-pennington-reveals-true-history-of-king-arthur/)


End file.
